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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25386601">Express Delivery</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunaddicted/pseuds/sunaddicted'>sunaddicted</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>007 Games Fics 2k20 [19]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>James Bond (Craig movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Banter, Flirting, Fluff, Inspired by Fanart, M/M, Mission Fic, Plushies, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash, Short &amp; Sweet, Sweet</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 11:54:06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,300</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25386601</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunaddicted/pseuds/sunaddicted</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Q just glared - gods, the man was so insufferable.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>James Bond/Q</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>007 Games Fics 2k20 [19]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1794529</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>007 Fest Fancreations</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Express Delivery</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Item #84 of the Scavenger Hunt 2020: Create work that's inspired by the work of somebody from your team (with their permission). i.e. art to a fic, write fic inspired by art, make a podfic, etc  (ex: Illustrate a scene from a different point of view)</p><p>This fic is inspired by a wonderful piece of art by the amazing ksan, here is the link to the post: https://starrboned-art.tumblr.com/post/624030584609669120/q-at-the-beach-bringing-equipment-to-bond-bonus</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>Express Delivery</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It was always a bother when an agent ended up needing extra equipment that had to be delivered out in the field, in the middle of a mission; it was tricky, it involved dislocating agents or minions (if the mission wasn’t the too risky kind - completely riskless ones were an utopia and everyone in their line of work knew that very well) and transporting things as dangerous as weapons in the most inconspicuous and safest way as possible. Not to mention that Finance always bitched about having to allocate more funds for covering any and all travelling expenses, which made a situation that already was stressful enough even worse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It really was a nightmare - an unfortunately unavoidable one, sometimes: things out in the field could change in the arc of a few seconds, mission specs that had been eviscerated within an in inch of their lives turned out to be nothing more than fried air and that things in reality were a lot different, which usually translated to a lot more complicated situation than what the agents had been prepared and equipped for.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In this case, thankfully the situation wasn’t that dire and Q was convinced that was the only reason why he had been allowed to be the one to pack up the equipment and get it to Bond - that and the fact he hadn’t had a real, proper holiday in a year or so and M had probably decided to catch two birds with one stone. If Q hadn’t been craving for a few hours on a golden beach, bathed in sun rays that actually reached his marrow and warmed up his bones instead of feeling as useless as lukewarm tea, he would have been pretty pissed at the idea that he needed to be forced to take a holiday.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He adjusted the sun hat on his hair, thankful for the way it kept his head cool enough: even if he had been agonizing for some heat, he definitely wasn’t built for it and had taken all the necessary precautions to avoid getting sick because of the sun - from glasses tinted so dark that the world had turned into greys to the sun screen he had slathered all over himself as soon as he had landed, so thick that the consistency of it reminded Q of some kind of hazmat suit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He really hated it, but he hated sunburns more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Q tightened his grip on the briefcase, mildly uncomfortable at having it out in public so blatantly; of course he knew that it was literally impossible for any of the beachgoers he was walking amidst to guess what exactly were its contents but still.. Q was used to making this kind of delicate exchanges in the sterile safety of his branch, where there wasn’t a civilian in sight. The last time he had handed over any kind of equipment out of MI6 had been once again to Bond, in the middle of the National Gallery, surrounded by centuries upon centuries of beauty dripping from the walls; he had been tense back then too - though, mostly because he had been new to the job and everyone had made sure he knew just how bratty Bond would be in his attempts at testing him to see whether he scared away easily.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shook the memories away: he wasn’t green anymore, he had grown as comfortable in his role as Quartermaster as a cat in a warm and loving home, and the source of his wariness didn’t dwell in the agent he was meeting up with but rather from the fact he was so unused to being out in the field, carrying dangerous weaponry with the same ease with which he was carrying around the pretty big plushie that poked its head out of his messenger bag. Q didn’t exactly know when the idea had sprouted in his mind - maybe during some graveyard shift, when he had been bored out of his mind and scrolling through Pinterest boards while he waited for an agent to check in and give him something to work with before caffeine failed him and he fell asleep on his desk; arts and crafts had always interested him and people on the internet had made learning how to make a plushie seem interesting and easy enough - spoiler alert: it hadn’t been easy at all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His first, rather mangled attempts, Q had given to his cats who cared more about the fact they had something soft to tear apart rather than whether the stitching was neat or the fish actually looked like a fish and not some kind of sci-fi monstrosity that he was pretty sure couldn’t be found even in the depths of the ocean where humanity had more difficult getting to rather than to space.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he had gotten better with time and somewhere between a 72-hour long shift and another, the idea of making a Komodo Dragon shaped plushie for Bond had taken root in his mind and Q hadn’t been able to get rid of it, no matter how hard he tried. The original plan had been to give it to the man at work, where everyone would catch the reference and maybe send Bond’s way a snigger or two - but this was better, in the end: Q really didn’t want people speculating over his… well, gift.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There really was no other way to call it, much to his chagrin, and Bond would realise that too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Q sped up as sand started to burn up a little too uncomfortably beneath the soles of his feet, eyeing up the beach kiosk at which Bond had given him appointment - no surprises there: everyone and their mother knew that the agent liked his alcohol. Spotting him was easy; despite the fact Bond had been there for only a few days, he already was sporting a golden tan and his hair had taken on a honeyed hue that shone bright even beneath the shadow of the beach umbrellas the kiosk was equipped with. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I hope you're going to buy me a drink"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James grinned, eyes sparkling with mirth as he pushed his still untouched martini towards the younger man "There you go. How was the flight?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Horrid" as always but Q had to admit that it had been worth it: the sea looked inviting like few other things in the world, crystal blue and frothing a pearly white at the peaks "As usual, try to bring it back" Q said as he handed the man the briefcase, hoping Bond wouldn't have the brilliant idea of opening it in front of everyone, just because he was the kind of man who looked as excited as a kid at Christmas whenever in the vicinity of particularly shiny and dangerous toys.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Thank you, Q"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And this"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James blinked down at… "Is this a Komodo Dragon?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm glad that your eyes still work so well, I'll relay that to Medical" Q snarled in at attempt at hiding his nerves at the man's reaction - or lack thereof: he really couldn't tell for now what the other thought of the plushie, surprise still was the prominent emotion on his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Where did you find this?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I made it"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James blinked again, one hand squeezing the rotund belly of the plushie: it was soft, almost velvety beneath his fingers "You did?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Don't feel so special, I need something to do to pass the time"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You said that I'm special"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I-I didn't" Q stammered, almost jamming the glass into his mouth to hide his blush "I said the contrary"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James shrugged, bringing the plushie to his chest - it was quite satisfying to hug "But you thought about it - me and special in the same sentence"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Q just glared - gods, the man was so insufferable. </span>
</p><p> </p>
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